Rings And Truth
by boredsvunut
Summary: A very weird idea that popped into my brain last night. But my weird ideas have turned into being very good stories, most of the time . . . See more inside.
1. Default Chapter

(Disclaimer: Not mine. Nothing in this bit of random creativity belongs to me. If any of it did, I wouldn't be living in middle-of-nowhere-ville Nova Scotia.)

(A/n: This is an extremely weird idea that just popped into my head. It's inspired by a few episodes of Criminal Intent. And it is **_NOT _**a crossover. An SVU fic, inspired by CI? I know it doesn't make a lot of sense. This is what happens to me, when I fry my brain, sitting in front of my DVD player for about four hours.)

We sit here on the curb, in our unmarked Crown Vic, silently. He pretends to read the paper and I pretend to be checking my makeup in the rearview. We look like a couple to anyone who's passing by.

"You ready to go in?" He raises an eyebrow. It's time for us to put our act on again. A decoy husband and wife, desperate for a child.

There are people selling babies to desperate rich couples, who have had enough of the adoption system. They work abortion clinics, find some desperate woman and pay her to give them her baby, when it's born, and then, they sell the kid like they would anything else.

We found out about this through a startled young woman, who came to us. She said she'd gone into a clinic, to abort a baby that neither she or her boyfriend were ready for, when she'd been approached by a man, who'd offered her twenty thousand dollars for her child. Horrified, she came to us to report it. The guy had even given her a number, in case she changed her mind. That's how we got here, preparing a sting.

I tuck the earpiece in place, making sure it's hidden. "Yeah."

"Wait a sec, Liv." He produces a small box. It's one I've come to recognize.

Because we do decoy work so often and our perps are so often highly intelligent, I've been provided with a wedding band and engagement ring, sized just for me. Rapists and pedophiles are cowards, but they're not stupid. If I walked in with my 'husband' and didn't have a ring, it would send a signal.

My friends keep asking me when I'm going to tie the knot and settle down. I wonder what they'd do if I told them that I've been 'married' a few dozen times. Because in a way, I have been. I'm almost always the one that gets tapped to play the decoy wife. Probably because I'm one of the few women in the squad.

I slide them on, slowly. It always feels awkward. I'm not used to wearing rings on my left hand. I have two plain silver ones on my right, but nothing on my left. It took me a long time to stop fiddling with the rings, when we were undercover. I had to make it look natural.

A woman who's used to wearing a wedding band doesn't fiddle with it. I've seen my married friends. They don't touch their rings. It's just there, like it's a part of them. They'd feel awkward without it. I feel awkward wearing one.

I check the tiny microphone that's attached to the inside of my sleeve, ready to record anything that's said. Besides wearing a non-binding wedding band, I'm wearing a skirt and heels, with a long-sleeved blouse. Something else that feels unnatural. I don't even wear a skirt when I go to court. It's not that I don't like wearing a skirt, I just never really get to.

I check my hair, one last time, to make sure that it's concealing the earpiece and open the door. I step out and walk around the car. Elliot joins me and slips his arm through mine, as we walk down the sidewalk. I let one eye wander to the other side of the street, seeing another unmarked Crown Vic. Munch and Fin are sitting there, watching the small, uptown café where we set up the meet.

I know that a lot of women would die to be me, right now. A friend claims I'm crazy for not taking advantage of the position I'm in. He's single, recently separated and spends more time with me than he does his own kids. A lonely guy's easy to seduce, she says.

But that's not what I want. A casual, easy-come-easy-go kind of thing is not what I want, if I do get involved with him. He's not the kind of man for that. And I'm tired of it. He's the dependable, solid one - the guy that every little girl's mother dreams of. The classic knight in shining armor from the fairytales.

He's stubborn. We butt heads, all the time. The boss doesn't even bother looking up, anymore, when we fight. Sometimes, he pisses me off so much that I don't even want him in the same country with me. But he's reliable and solid. I know that if he does have feelings for me, like the rumors say, it won't be a one-night-stand.

But I do feel for him. It used to be friendship, but I think the line's starting to blur, now, with everything that's happened, lately. He's been calling my couch home more often, the last few months.

I'm never sure where I stand with him. Sometimes, I'll catch him stealing a look, when he doesn't think I'm paying attention. The way he looks at me, then gives me the idea that the rumors going around the precinct aren't just gossip, made up by some bored beat cop. But then, other times, when he pushes me away, I don't know what he wants from me. I don't even know if he wants me around, anymore.

But I love him. How can't I? Seven years, working side-by-side. We're a team. He's got my back, I've got his. We've been through everything possible, while we work the sickest kinds of crimes. We've both had HIV scares, I've had stalkers and I've had threats made against my life. Besides that, we've dealt with Internal Affairs, a few dirty cops, justified shootings and psych evaluations.

He was there for me, when my mother died, even though I tried my best to make him go away. He's always trying to convince me that I'm not what I think I am. That whatever my father did doesn't have anything to do with me. When he thought I needed protection, he put the call in and got it for me. He never backed down, even when I showed up on his doorstep, after midnight, pissed off because he was trying to take care of me. The one thing I can't stand. I hate it when someone's trying to take care of me.

He's been there, when I need him and even when I've told him to go away, he's still there. I depend on him and I trust him. I'll have to wait and see. I'm going to let him make the first move. I'm not making an idiot out of myself, by making the first move and then finding out that he doesn't feel that way. That the rumors are just rumors.

I'm not ruining what we have over a bunch of rumors. No. Not gonna happen. I drag my mind back to the case at hand, as he opens the door for me. I'm not Detective Benson - a cop who lives alone on the West Side. I'm the wife of a wealthy broker who lives in Central Park West and is desperate to be a mommy. Desperate enough to buy a kid, illegally.

I see our 'contact' sitting at a table, with a cup of coffee. I lift my hand to run fingers through my hair and whisper into the tiny mic attached to my sleeve. "It's a go. Our contact's here. Everybody in position?"

Munch's voice crackles through the earpiece, seconds later. "It's a go, Ghost. Nail the bastard."

"You got it." I drop my hand back to my side and find my partner's hand, linking my fingers with his. Here we go again. Acting as a couple, when we're not. I just hope things will change, sometime in the near future.

(A/n: Like it? Hate it? Is it weird? Let me know. This thing kind of wrote itself in about twenty minutes.)


	2. 2

(A/n: Surprise! This was going to be a random, pointless one-shot, but since you all asked so nicely, I think I can continue it . . . )

We got our perp. It was a smooth and quick takedown. It went off without a hitch. He didn't even ask for a lawyer when we brought him into the interrogation room. It didn't take long for Elliot to start scaring the hell out of him.

He's been booked and now he's sitting in lockup, waiting for arraignment. Novak's positive she can nail his ass. The woman who came to us is willing to testify. She might not have been ready to be a mom, but she's honest.

Now I'm sipping a cup of coffee and trying to write up the DD-5, at my desk. I see a crumpled-up ball of pink paper land on my desk, inches from my nose. I roll my eyes and ignore it. A blue ballpoint pen lands about half an inch away from my left hand.

My mother was right. Men don't mature. _Ever_. They still have the minds of twelve-year-olds, when they're grown men. I turn my mind back to the report in front of me. A ball of white paper lands beside the pen.

I know he's just doing it to piss me off. If he wanted my attention, he would have said something to me. So I'm going to ignore it. Another ball of paper hits one of my framed photos. Tempted to look up at him and give him a well-aimed kick, I lock my concentration on the report, filling in the blanks.

A neatly folded paper airplane lands on my desk, under my nose. That's it. I drop my pen and look at my partner. He's got the sleeves of his shirt pushed up and his tie loosened. He's leaning on his elbows, with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. "What?" He asks, innocently.

I knew he'd do that. I give him my well-aimed kick to the shin and roll my eyes at him. I clean off my desk and turn back to the report. He seems find purposely irritating me funny.

At the end of a boring, slow day, everybody parts ways. Munch leaves first, saying something about the Discovery channel and aliens. Then, Fin leaves the squad, saying he's going home to call his son.

Finally, it's just me and Elliot and Cragen. Our boss finally steps out of his office, with his coat in his hands. "Going home, Cap?" I question. My boss is a legend in the Department, because he hardly ever goes home. The cot in his office proves it. They should give him a medal for dedication.

He nods, then looks at my partner and I, sharply. "Aren't you two?"

"I don't know. It seems kind of pointless. I'm just gonna go home to stare at the wall for a while. I can do that here." I point out, earning a rare smile.

"You can do that at home, too." Cragen argues. "Go. Get outta here."

"Don't have to tell me twice." Elliot gets up and grabs his coat, handing me mine. We leave together, taking the elevator down.

"You wanna go get a drink?" He raises an eyebrow, as we step out of the precinct house.

I stop, in the parking lot and blink at him. Ever since Scarry opened her mouth in Cragen's office, he's been forgoing our usual after-work drinks routine. This is the first time in a couple of months he's asked. "Yeah. You're buying."

"Where do you wanna go? O'Malley's? Mulligan's?" He questions.

"O'Malley's sounds fine." I shrug.

"If you're tired. . . " He begins, always worrying for me.

"No. Let's go."

We wind up sitting in a corner table. He's nursing a Scotch on the rocks. I've got a beer. "You see the kids lately?" I question, as he takes a drink. I know the hardest part for him of this whole thing is being cut off from his kids. They're his world. It's a sore spot, but I have to ask.

"Yeah. The twins were down the weekend before last and Kathleen's been staying with me for a couple of nights. She's been going at it with Kathy ever since the papers were filed. She's angry."

"I know where she gets it." I kid, softly, drawing a grin from him. "Have you talked to them yet? About this whole thing?"

He sighs. "Maureen was the easy one to explain to. She thought it would better if we spilt up and got it over with, instead of trying to hold things together for them. Kathleen kind of had the same idea. She said she wouldn't be the only one of her friends who still had married parents. The twins"- he shakes his head. "It's scaring the hell out of them. We've both talked to them and they're still confused. I think it's because we never fought in front of them. They thought everything was fine."

I nod. "You never told me why this happened. Why she just moved out?"

He props his chin in one hand and sighs. "We got married way too young, Liv. Too young and too fast. We were a couple of kids. But I got her pregnant and our parents made us get married. We didn't know if we even wanted to get married. We didn't have a choice. We made it through a lot of stuff - thirty grand a year doesn't go far, when you've got a two-year-old and a wife with another kid on the way." Elliot shakes his head.

"And then, with this job - the hours, the wake-up calls. She just couldn't put up with it anymore. She wanted me to talk to her about it, Liv, but I couldn't tell her. I didn't want to tell her about what we saw. She didn't need to have the same nightmares." He takes another drink and sighs.

"There's still something you're not telling me." I persist. He's been known to open up when he's drinking. And I do get the feeling that he's holding back something.

He shakes his head. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way."

"I won't."

He finishes off his glass, finally and looks at me. "Before she moved out, she accused me of having an affair with you."

I stare at him, startled. "You're kidding." I demand. "Tell me you're kidding."

Even_ I_ know he wouldn't cheat. He still takes wedding vows and family seriously. He wouldn't cheat on his wife. And definitely not with me. Cragen would have both our asses. I wouldn't want to be the other woman in his life, anyway.

"No. It was the overtime, all the hours, the times when she tried to call and couldn't get me. She started to wonder."

I shake my head. "When we worked overtime, we were actually working. Jesus, Elliot. I've met Kathy. I've had dinner with you two and the kids. Didn't she trust you?" I always thought twenty years of marriage would have earned him some kind of trust.

"I don't know, Liv." He sighs. "I don't know where that came from. I really don't. I didn't tell you because"-

"You didn't want to piss me off." I nod. "I get it." I down my beer. "Wanna get outta here?"

He nods and puts a couple of bills on the table to pay for the drinks.

Outside the bar, he hails a cab. Instead of just putting me in it and hailing another one for himself, like some guys will, he joins me in the back. He has the cabbie drop me off first.

"Pick you up in the morning?" Elliot raises an eyebrow, as I step out.

"Yeah." I nod. We've been doing this for years now. In the morning, when he comes down into Manhattan, he picks me up. He usually complains about being my chauffeur, but I know he's joking. "Goodnight."

"Night, Liv."

I close the door and walk into the lobby of my building. I take the elevator up and sigh, as I unlock my apartment door. Tonight would have been perfect. I could have invited him up. He's going home alone, something that nobody likes to do. But we've both been drinking.

And that could have lead to any number of things. I'm not doing that again. If we do start something, we're both going to be sober. I don't want it to be a one-night-stand that we're too drunk to remember. I don't want that from him. I'll go to bed alone tonight and wait for the right time.

I know it would have been easy for me to take advantage of him, especially tonight. He's lonely and he was drinking. But I don't want to take advantage of him. I'll wait. Give him some time to clear his head and figure some stuff out for himself. I'll just have to be patient.

(A/n: I know it's short, but I'm just getting over the flu, so bear with me.)


	3. 3

I groan in protest, when my alarm clock blares. I hate it, when I just get into a good dream and it goes off. I punch the snooze to get it to stop making noise and fall back against the pillow.

I was just getting into one of the dreams that have been the only thing keeping me sane lately. I was dreaming about my partner.

When I first started dreaming about him, a couple of years ago, I brushed it off as my brain cross-wiring my loneliness and lack of dates with the fact that I get stuck seeing him every day. But now I think my subconscious mind wants to play matchmaker. And it's working.

If I don't want to get yelled at, I have to get up. I get out of bed and turn, doing a quick and sloppy job of making it. I hop a quick shower and get dressed. Then I have enough time to grab a cup of coffee and a piece of toast before I'm out the door.

I lock my door behind me and wait patiently for the elevator. It's old and slow, but it's an elevator.

Elliot's waiting for me, impatiently, parked on the curb. "I thought you died." He comments, grumpily. He's not a morning person.

"Good morning to you, too." I tell him, sliding into the passenger seat. "Is it my fault the elevator's ancient?" We have this exchange almost every morning.

Stuck in traffic, as usual on a weekday morning in Manhattan, he turns to me. "Liv?"

"Hmm?" I'm staring at the black Lexus in front of us. I already have the plate number memorized, out of pure boredom. There's a disadvantage to this blue Crown Vic of ours - it doesn't have a radio.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I've heard a lot of rumors going around. In the precinct and in the DA's office. Rumor has it you're into women. There was a rumor going around you were involved with Abbie, and then Alex. I heard one the other day that had you involved with Novak."

I stare at him, for a minute, startled, then shake my head, frustrated. "That's just bored people trying to find something to do with their lives. I'm not a lesbian. Don't you think you'd have picked that up by now?"

He shrugs. "I don't know."

"Trust me, you would have noticed."

"I just had to ask. But you know about the rumors?"

"Yeah. It's just a bunch of people who don't have enough to do, so they spread rumors. It probably has something to with the fact that I'm not married and can't seem to get a steady boyfriend." I go back to staring out the windshield and I see him shaking his head, out of the corner of my eye.

Today's going to be another slow day, if we don't catch anything new. I'm going to court this morning, but not because I have to testify. I'm going to sit with a few of the victims of the rapist that's on trial. Some people accuse me of coddling or hand-holding, but I want to help them, if I can. I've had to live with the mess that happens when a woman doesn't see her rapist brought to justice. The summations start today and I just want to be there.

After that, I don't have anything else to do, unless we catch another case. It seems like the psychopaths and pedophiles have taken a holiday. It'd be nice if it were a permanent one. I'd be out of work, but they wouldn't be able to hurt anyone else. And that's the reason why I have my job, in the first place.

"Well?" My boss and my partner both look up, when I step back into the squadroom. I run my fingers through my hair, quickly. "Guilty on all counts. Jury took an hour to convict." I fall into my chair and look at my inbox in disgust. It's spilling over with paperwork.

I raise an eyebrow in Elliot's direction. "Why are you looking at me?" He demands. "It's all yours."

I shake my head and yank the first file from the stack. If I know him, he probably snuck half of his own paperwork into that pile. He thinks it's funny to stick me with it. I know it's not all mine, because I do my paperwork on time. He sits on his for weeks. I'm not going to say anything right now, but I'll get him back. Sometimes, he underestimates me.

At the end of the day, my inbox is empty and waiting. The finished reports are stacked neatly in one corner of my desk, waiting to be filed away somewhere.

Being neat and organized comes out of long habit. When I was a little kid and my mother was drinking, I blamed myself. I thought there was something wrong with me that was making her drink. I thought her problem was me. So I tried to be perfect, so she'd stop. I kept my room neater than any other seven-year-old on the block.

Nothing I did made her stop. It took me a long time to realize that there wasn't anything I could do to stop her from drinking. It had nothing to do with me. The shrinks I've talked to over the years say it was normal for me to do that. To blame myself. But trying to please her when I was a kid left me with a lot of habits that I haven't been able to break.

I get up and grab my coat, looking at my watch. I knew I forgot about something, but I couldn't remember what. A friend of mine and I made plans to have dinner tonight. I won't have time to go home, but I can still make our reservation.

"Liv?" Elliot catches my attention. "You wanna grab a bite to eat? A drink?"

"Nah. I can't. There's a friend of mine who's been waiting at least a month to have dinner with me. I've always wound up canceling at the last second."

"A date?"

"No. A _friend_." I reply, shaking my head. "A _female _friend. Do you wanna call her? Trust me, El. No guy has the patience to wait a month for a date."

I dart into the restaurant about ten minutes late. A pair of dark eyes look me up and down and one of my best friends from childhood, Dana Libretti, shakes her head, slightly. "I was just about to call you to see if you were actually going to show up." She says.

"I'm sorry. I"-

"Got held up at work. That's what you all say." She grins and I laugh. She's married to a cop. She knows all the lines.

My old friend is completely different from me. She's about five foot five, to my five-eight.

Where I was tall, awkward and constantly tripping over my own feet, she was shorter and not so clumsy. I wear my hair short. She wears hers past her shoulders and usually in a ponytail. I'm a cop. She's a paramedic.

She has perfect skin, that's gold-tinged. That, along with her dark hair and eyes were inherited from her Latino mother.

She comes from a huge family, with six younger brothers, at least four uncles on her father's side and hell only knows how many cousins. But that's just blood relatives. Her father's a retired Fire Department captain. There's a huge extended family there - all of his friends and men he commanded.

When the waitress seats us, Dana grins at me. "Finally. You are one hard woman to get a hold of, you know that?"

"I know. I'm sorry"- I begin to apologize.

"Don't apologize. I hear enough of it outta Chris." She cuts me off. "I thought once he got to be a detective, the hours wouldn't be so bad. But they're actually worse."

"Didn't trying to talk to me give you any indication?" I raise an eyebrow and she laughs.

"You work in a nuthouse. I didn't think it would be as bad."

"Thanks. I'll be sure to tell my boss that."

Dana grins at me. "So how are things going in the boyfriend department?"

"Don't ask." I shake my head and rub my eyes. "I get more come-on lines from women than men. And when a guy does pay attention to me, he's a psychopath or a sick, twisted, sadistic sociopath."

"Ouch." She winces, as we place our orders with the waitress. "You know, if you wouldn't so much damned time working, things would go easier."

I sigh. "I love my job. But I don't think it's the hours that drive the guys away. It's what I do that runs them off."

Dana blinks at me. "You're a cop."

"Yeah. They don't usually mind that. Some do, but not usually. But when they learn that I deal with rapists and pedophiles and the occasional psychopath, that scares the hell out of them. I deal with the stuff that they get the chills reading about in the papers."

She shakes her head. "What the hell is _wrong _with the men in this city?" She asks, disgust in her black eyes. "You're gorgeous. A guy our age should consider himself damned lucky you're talking to him. You could have any guy you wanted. Even some young kid, you know?"

"You mean like the college kid who lives across the street from me and stays glued to his bedroom window, trying to catch a peek of me?" I ask, dryly.

"Is he cute?" She raises one thick black eyebrow, suggestively.

"_Dana _. . . " I warn, quietly, as the waitress sets plates down in front of us.

"Oh, _come on. _Live a little. You could always be another Demi Moore. There's nothing _wrong _with a younger guy. You know, nobody ever made a big deal about older men dating younger women. To them, age was just a number."

"Un-uh. I like a guy who can keep up with me. I don't want them young and clueless." I protest.

"Oh, right. I forgot. You like 'em older and smart. What about that guy you dated when we were in high school? The guy who was your mother's student? Did you ever hook back up with him?"

"After the fit Mom threw when she found out? No."

Dana shrugs. "I remember you telling me about some rookie from Narcotics you worked with a couple of times. From the way you were talking, he sounded hot."

"Mike?" I roll my eyes. "Gimme a break."

"Well, _is _he?" She persists.

"Yeah. For a girl his own age. Not to me. I'm an old lady to him."

"When will you get it? You _don't _look old. Period. End of story. It's _obvious _you've never had kids, you're built like a damned Barbie - you don't look that much past thirty. My twelve-year-old thinks you're hot."

I stare at her, stunned. "Jason?"

"Yeah. My boy thinks you're hot. And if he notices, you gotta be looking good. You know how hard it is to get that kid to notice something besides video games?" Dana sighs.

"But he's not gonna tell his mom that he thinks her friend is hot. How do you know?" I protest.

"Ah, but good old Dad's fair game." She grins. "He told his father."

I decide to tell her about the dreams I've been having lately. "Did you ever get the feeling that your dreams were trying to tell you something? Set you up with someone?"

"You mean like the ones I used to have about me and Brad Pitt?" She asks, and we both laugh. "You've been dreaming about someone?"

I don't want to tell her that I've been dreaming about my partner. "Yeah. There's this guy"-

"It wouldn't be that gorgeous partner of yours, would it?" Dana grins, broadly. "Oh, my God. You're blushing."

"Am not." I protest.

"You are. The guy is gorgeous - you gotta admit." She laughs. "Oh, come on. Do you know how many women would _die _to be in your shoes? I met the guy once and I'd switch places with you on _any _day. He could lose the suit and tie, but he looks better than most guys you'd meet. And he flirts with you."

"He doesn't!" I shake my head. This is ridiculous. Where is she getting this? "He was a married man."

"_Was. _That's the important thing.He's yours, now." Dana's still grinning.

"No, he's not."

"Hey, if you don't want him, move the hell outta the way and give the rest of us a chance. I think you've got a shot, though. You're blind if you can't see it. I had lunch with you two for an hour and _I_ could see it. Married man or not, you were the one he was watching." My old friend persists, adjusting her simple ponytail.

"You think?" I ask, still skeptical. "Dana, he's a Catholic. He takes wedding vows and family seriously. His family is his world."

"Yeah. I'm a Catholic. So's my brother. And he's married, too, but that doesn't stop him from checking out your ass every time he sees you. Religion, wedding band, family - none of it stops them from looking or daydreaming."

"My boss would have my ass if we started anything like that." I reply, softly.

"You think? You had a fling with that kid from your squad - what the hell was his name? Ben? Brian?"

I half-suspected she'd bring up Cassidy. "Brian. And it was a mistake. I'd had too much to drink that night and I did a stupid thing."

"Yeah. But your boss didn't do anything then, did he?"

"No. But this is my partner. It's a lot more serious than that." I find myself shaking my head again. "A drunk off my ass one-night-stand isn't as serious as a relationship with my partner."

"You're smart enough to keep your mouth shut, aren't you?" She asks, looking at me, seriously.

"Yeah. But my boss is smarter. He picks up stuff, even when we don't tell him. Trust me, if we tried anything like that, right under his nose, he'd find out."

"Honey, I'm married to a cop. My brother's a cop. And I don't think there's actually any kind of rule _against _it . . . "

"But it's not exactly _approved _of, either." I rub my eyes.

"They can't fire you. Hell, live a little. Take a chance. You're gonna regret it if you don't."

"I don't know, Dana. I know there isn't a rule against it and that they couldn't fire me or reprimand me if the boss _did _find out . . . "

"Then what the hell are you _waiting _for?" She demands.

"It's my reputation I'm worried about. With the guys, they're all brothers. But a woman's an outsider. They don't accept me as part of the family. All I have is my reputation. Starting something with my partner isn't going to help. And it might hold me back, if I go for a promotion or something, because people talk. And gossip gets around a precinct house like it does in a high school."

"Then you gotta decide." My old friend puts down her fork and looks at me seriously. "You gotta decide if you wanna be happy or not. If you wanna be alone the rest of your life or not. I've seen you - you look happy around him. It's your choice."

"But what if he doesn't feel the same way and I blow it all to hell?"

Dana groans, softly. "I hate you when you get stubborn. I'm sorry, but I do. I've got six brothers. I spend eight hours a day with a guy or with a bunch of guys in a firehouse. Don't you think I know how to read them by now? He likes you. Any idiot with a pair of eyes could see it."

I bite my lip. "Really?"

"Yeah. If you say your boss is so smart, he's probably noticed. I know you're not shy. So stop acting like it. Make your move or get the hell outta the way." Dana grins at me. "Trust me. He's probably thinking the same way you are. He doesn't want to make the move and blow it all to hell with you. You gotta make the move."

I sigh. She's right. I can't sit around and wait any longer. I have to let him know. Or he's going to find someone else and move on. "But he and the wife just spilt up, after twenty years. I don't wanna be the rebound girl." I protest, voicing another concern.

"Not with the way he was looking at you when we were in that diner. You're not gonna be a rebound."

When the waitress comes around, we spilt the bill and part ways. She's going home to Brooklyn, to her husband and kids. I'm going back to that empty apartment. Something I'm getting tired of seeing.

(A/n: I know it's heavy on the dialogue, but I wanted to give Olivia a friend. She always seems so alone in the world that it seemed fair.)


	4. 4

I got up early this morning to beat my partner into the squadroom. The logical side of my mind argued that it was stupid to get up early to get to work early just so I could have revenge. But the revenge won out. And I'm here.

It's payback time. He stuck me with his paperwork and I want to get him back. I look at the pile in my inbox, cup of coffee in hand. You give what you get. And I know he's not expecting it. He's not expecting me to retaliate. Ha.

He does underestimate me, sometimes. I know he doesn't mean to, but he does. I make sure Cragen's office door is shut before I put my plan into action. Nobody else is here to blow my little scheme, either.

I take half of yesterday's finished paperwork that he stuck me with and slide it under the pile already sitting in his inbox. Then I take the pile that's in my inbox and put it in his box. It's only fair.

Munch and Fin show up first, actually talking, not arguing. And Munch isn't giving one of his never-ending rants. "_Someone's _in a good mood." John comments, sourly, giving me his trademark over-the-glasses look.

I grin at him "Aww, c'mon, Munch. It's spring. We don't have to see another blizzard for the next few months. Even you should be happy about that."

He takes off his glasses, looking pale and naked without them. "It's the weather that's making you happy? Did you miss the fact that it's raining?"

"I know it's raining. But I like rain a hell of a lot better than snow. Rain I don't have to shovel my car out from under." I point out.

"I thought you might have had a date or something." Munch calls over his shoulder, heading to his desk.

"Nope." I tuck my hair back from my face.

Finally, Elliot shows up. His first stop, like mine was, is the coffee pot. Then, he comes over to sit across from me, again. "Morning." He greets and I yawn. "Hey."

I adjust one of the pictures on my desk and then I feel his eyes on me. "What?" I raise my head, looking at him.

Elliot glances at me, then at the pile in his inbox.

"Why are you looking at me?" I ask, innocently. "It's all yours."

He rolls his eyes at me and takes the first file off the stack. He's not going to say anything. Not yet, anyway.

I take yesterday's finished paperwork and file it away, neatly, leaving him to work away. When that's done, I get myself another cup of coffee . Someone brought in bagels. I grab one for myself and one for him, heading back to my desk.

I do little things - finish up a couple of reports, clean my desk and check my voicemail. He hasn't caught on yet. But he will.

He's getting down to the bottom of the pile. I fake a cough for an excuse to cover the grin on my face.

When he opens a file and looks at me, sharply, I grin at him. "Ever heard of a little thing called revenge, El? That's what you get for sticking me with your paperwork."

He doesn't answer. He just mutters something that I don't catch and glares at me.

"You give what you get." I tell him, still grinning. "It's fair."

A case finally does come in, not long after that, but Munch and Fin catch it. Elliot and I are due in court on the case of that baby-selling bastard we collared.

The worst part was going to find the couples who'd bought the babies and having to take the kids away. They'd been sold and bought, like property, but the 'parents' who'd paid as much as fifty thousand dollars for someone else's baby, illegally, put up a fight. There was no paperwork, no legal adoption, so they'd never had rights to the kids in the first place.

At least all of the kids were still babies. We weren't taking them away from the only parents they'd known. They were too young to understand what was going on. But a baby in a foster home? It drives me crazy to know that I'm divided on this.

The people who were calling themselves 'parents' had paid for a kid, just like you would a car. But all of them were taking excellent care of the babies. They won't get that kind of attention in a foster home. The system lets kids fall through the cracks all the time and these were just babies that ACS was placing in the system.

I shake my head, slightly, frustrated with myself. I should know by now that our cases aren't black and white. You can feel a million different things, but it doesn't matter how you feel. The law's the law. With no legal adoption and no way to find the birth mothers, those babies had to be placed in foster homes.

I'm just getting my coat to leave for the courthouse, when Elliot takes a call on his cell. He has a short conversation and looks at me. "That was Novak. She worked out a plea bargain this morning."

"You're _kidding_." I protest. "She's not going to plead this son of a bitch out."

"Liv, he's doing at least fifteen years."

"Why the hell would she plead him out? We busted our asses setting him up." I shake my head, frustrated with the wasted work. "We've got the tape. He offered to sell us a baby girl."

"I said that. She said it came from over her head. She had to plead it out."

Damn lawyers and politics. It gets frustrating to work with a bunch of lawyers who only give a damn about what something looks like in the papers or what people are going to think. "See, if the DA's office had a bunch of defense attorneys on staff, this political crap wouldn't be happening." I shake my head.

"But then you'd be even more pissed off, because you hate defense attorneys more than you hate prosecutors." Elliot points out with a grin.

"True. But defense attorneys don't really give a damn about what something's going to look like in the papers or what the people think. All they care about is what the jury thinks. They're not so wrapped up in political crap." I stretch and walk back to my desk.

"There's gotta be one prosecutor you like. What'd you think of Kibre?"

I shrug. "She's a damn good attorney. We need more prosecutors like her. She'll do what it takes to win her cases, politically correct or not." A passing uniform hands me a slip with a message on it. I thank him, quietly and read it.

"Did a date call you back?" Elliot raises an eyebrow.

"No. If you have to know, I haven't had a date in about three months. Not that it's any of your business. Just a friend of mine. The same one I had dinner with last night." I shift in my chair, seeing him give me a skeptical look.

"You remember my friend Dana? We had lunch with her a couple of months ago, at the diner around the block. The paramedic married to a cop."

"Yeah. I remember."

"I had dinner with her last night. She called."

"Girl talk, huh?"

"So? I hang out with you guys all day." I shrug. "When I'm out with a few friends, I'm not a cop. I'm not a detective. I'm Liv. And they pretend to hate me, because I'm the only one still single."

"So they'd be happy to be single." Elliot shakes his head.

"They think they would. But they don't know that I'd give it all up to have what they have. A family. Someone to go home to. Walking into an empty apartment gets kind of depressing after so long." I rub my eyes.

Looking for something to do, I take a couple of files back from him and set to work. When I look up to toss my fading pen in the trash and get a new one, I catch him looking at me. But not in a way he should be, as my partner. Dana was right. Maybe he does feel the same way. But I can't ask him right here, in the middle of the squad. I'll have to bite my tongue and wait.

Later on, when he's driving me home, I'm sitting on the edge of my seat. I don't know what I want to do. Do I want to invite him in? Put everything on the line and hope to hell I get the outcome I want? Or do I play shy and let him walk away again?

No. I'm not going to play shy. I'm going to let him up. When he stops on the curb, I turn to him and smile, slightly. "Do you wanna come up? Have a cup of coffee?"

He shrugs and yanks the keys from the ignition, following me into my building.

It takes me two tries to get the key in the lock. When I finally have the door open, I show him inside. I turn on a couple of lights and turn the coffee pot back on. "It'll be a minute." I tell him, stepping into the kitchen. "Make yourself at home."

I hear him flipping channels on my TV, sitting on my couch. He's watching something to do with sports. Typical guy.

I make a cup of coffee for him and get myself a glass of juice. If I have coffee now, I'll be up all night. And this is one of the few times when I don't _need _to be up all night.

I join him on the couch and tuck my legs up, comfortably.

"I like the paint, Liv." He nods at the living room walls that I painted a shade of blue a couple of weekends ago. "It lightens the place up."

"Yeah. I needed something to do and I was sick of white." I grin at him.

He shakes his head and sighs, flipping off the TV. Then, he turns to me. I swallow, hearing my own heartbeat. I can see the look on his face. I can read him so damned well by now that I know what's he feeling.

"Liv . . . " He trails off, reaching to cup my cheek in one strong hand. I swallow, hard and look at him. Our eyes meet for a spilt second. I don't even think we need to talk. Words would be a waste of time right now. We both know each other so well that we don't need to talk.

His fingers are warm against my skin. His free hand touches my back, his arm pulling me close. I close my eyes, as he lifts my chin. "Look at me."

I open my eyes again and find myself staring right into those blue eyes that drive me crazy. He kisses me, softly, at first, almost tentative. But that's not what I want. He's reminding me of the first guy I kissed when I was fifteen. I don't want to be handled like I'm some piece of glass.

One hand slips into my hair, holding me there, not letting me pull away. He parts our lips to let me breathe and then kisses me again. I can feel myself slipping, losing control. It's been a long time since I've felt this way. His tongue slips into my mouth and my mind goes blank. All that's on my mind right now is him and what he's doing to me.

(A/n: This is short, again, but I have school to catch up on and I can't really go any further, because of how I rated this story. It's really hard to write anything past PG-13 when your mother's in the next room. But the people got what they wanted, right?)


	5. 5

(A/n: Hey to all you wicked people out there who keep reviewing! You rock. But I do have a question for you. See, I don't think it says this in my profile, but I do live in Canada. I'm just wondering if any of my readers live in my part of the world or am I all alone? Just drop me an answer in an review. I just feel kind of alone, surrounded by all of these American writers.)

I wake up in the morning, curled up into a warm body. I'm tempted to pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming. I'm so used to waking up alone that this feels like a dream.

He's got one arm draped over my waist, casually, his free hand resting against my upper arm. But he's got one leg draped over mine, possessively, trapping me and preventing me from moving.

I'm just beginning to doze off again, when he pulls me against his chest. "Hey." He kisses the top of my head.

I sigh, quietly and stifle a yawn. "Hey." I know this is all going to end when that clock on my night table goes off. We'll have to get up.

"You wanna call in sick? Hmm?" He kisses my ear. "It's not gonna hurt anything. Turn the phones off and stay here."

He's tempting me. And he knows it. Bastard. I turn over to face him and grin.

He kisses me on the nose. "Well?"

"Do you think we can get away with it?" I question, softly, looking at him.

"When's the last time you took a sick day?" Elliot questions, softly.

"God." I yawn, again. "I don't even remember."

"Exactly. Neither do I." He grins and reaches for the phone on my bedside table. I roll over and turn off my alarm, before it can go off.

"Liv?" He runs his fingers through my hair, lazily.

"Huh?" If he keeps that up, I'm going to be asleep.

"Why didn't you tell me you felt that way? Hmm?"

I open both eyes and look him in the face. "I couldn't. You were married. I didn't want to be the other woman. The one taking you away from those kids. And then, when you and Kathy spilt up, I wanted to give you some space. Time to work things out for yourself. I didn't want to be the rebound girl."

He touches my cheek. "You know you wouldn't have been."

"I didn't know that. I've been a guy's rebound girl before. And it hurts. He used me to get back on his feet, to help him through it. I gave him a shoulder to cry on, when he couldn't handle it. But the second he was back on his feet, he was gone. It wasn't going to happen again."

"Point taken." He sighs.

"So what about you? You could have told me." I protest.

He grins at me. "I was afraid to tell you. I didn't wanna blow it all to hell. And I didn't know how you'd take it."

I shrug. "I guess I was worried about what might happen at work, too. Let's just say I did something kinda stupid once and I didn't want it to happen again."

"What did you do?" He asks me, seeing the look on my face.

"Munch didn't tell you?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Liv . . . " I can see the wheels turning in his head, as he goes over the possibilities. "You're starting to scare me. Just spit it out."

So he doesn't know. I always thought he did. I thought Munch or someone had told him years ago, but he never bothered to bring it up. I shake my head. My stupidity that night still embarrasses me. "I slept with Brian."

"Cassidy? You're _kidding _me." Elliot looks at me, startled. "You're serious."

"Yeah. We were both drunk and it happened. It was just a one-time thing. But it was one of the stupidest things I've ever done. It was a mistake I made when I was drunk off my ass, to me, but he was looking for something serious."

"Cragen knows?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah. He picked up the gossip and called me in. I couldn't lie about it. He gave me a lecture on professionalism and told me not to let it happen again. I didn't know what he'd do, if I started something with you."

"But you did." He points out, quietly.

"I know. I got myself in over my head again." I sigh. "But you know, if we've both been feeling this way for hell knows how long, Cragen's probably noticed each of us trying to hide it."

"You're right." He grins and kisses me, softly. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

I raise an eyebrow. "Want me to cook?"

"Oh, no. I've tasted what you call 'cooking', Liv." He protests, laughing.

I roll my eyes at him and sigh. "Fine. You see what you can find. It's not my fault my cooking's so bad."

"Isn't it?" He looks at me.

I shake my head. "I never have the time to cook, so I've forgotten everything I was taught."

Elliot glances at me. "Who taught you in the first place?"

"I learned some stuff at school and then there was this old lady, Mrs. Levin, who lived down the hall when I was a kid. She taught me the rest. When I went over, she was always feeding me. I was one of those tall, skinny teenagers who constantly fell on my ass, so she didn't think I ate enough."

"Were you clumsy?" He questions.

"Yeah. I couldn't go one day without walking into something or tripping over my own feet or something like that. It was like I didn't have control of my own body."

He grins. "Maureen was that way. It was almost like she was growing too fast and she couldn't keep up with her body."

I shake my head. "Yeah. I think I was the kid who discovered that you can fall up the stairs. And it hurts."

Elliot shakes his head. "You can tell me about that later. Right now, let's get something to eat."

(A/n: Another short one. I'm not going to apologize again. And I kind of took liberty with the fact that Elliot doesn't know about the whole Olivia/Brian thing. I wasn't sure if he does or not, so I decided to write it that he doesn't.)


	6. 6

(A/n: In a review, JazzyChriminologist suggested that I switch to Elliot's thoughts. I'm going to usethat idea. This chapter's in Elliot's POV. It may not be great, because I'm a female teenager trying to write in the POV of a forty-something guy, but here goes . . .)

I watch the angel sitting across from me. There's something wrong. I can see it in her eyes. I know her so well that I can read her face, even when she's trying her damnedest to hide something from me. Like right now.

The dark eyes that I fell in love with the first time I looked at her are reflecting worry. But what the hell is she worried about? I must have told her a few thousand times already that if our little romance got out that I'd protect her reputation. I'd take the hit before I let her take it. It's only been a couple of weeks. But I've been in love with her for years.

Olivia sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose between her fingers for a few seconds. That's one of the things she does that says she's stressed out or she's got one hell of a headache. I don't even think she realizes that she does it.

"What's wrong?" I ask her, already feeling around in my desk drawer for that bottle of Tylenol.

She raises her head and gives me a tired, faked, smile. "I'm fine."

"Bull." I retort. "You and I both know you're the worst liar on the damned planet, so spit it out."

"There's nothing to spit out, El." She offers me another smile. "Trust me. I'm fine."

Her answer doesn't explain the worry in her eyes. Is there something wrong that she doesn't want to tell me here? I'd press it, normally, but she's just going to keep evading me. She's good at evading questions, when she doesn't want to answer them.

I know she's not pregnant. She told me that she was on the pill. So it's not that. I know it would only take once for me to be a dad again, but she's on the pill. So what the hell is it?

At the end of the day, we leave for her place. I'm still trying to figure out what's wrong with her, as I weave through traffic. She's still got that look of worry in her eyes.

Then it hits me. We just had our annual Department-mandated physicals. Could she be worrying about an abnormal test result or something like that? But I know her. She probably would have told me, if she was sick. She's stubborn, but she trusts me. And she'd feel obligated to tell me if something was wrong with her, so I'd know if something happened to her in the field.

In her apartment, she gets us each a beer and perches in a chair, looking worried and exhausted. She looks drained. She's been worrying about something all day.

"What's the matter, Liv? Huh? You wouldn't tell me in the squad. What's wrong? Did they find something when you went in for your physical?" I step over and rest one hand on her shoulder, to let her know I'm here for her.

"No. I'm fine." She pushes me away and puts her head in her hands. "I don't know, El."

"What?" I sit on the arm of the chair beside her.

"Things are just moving too fast. If it was just us, I'd be fine with it. But it's not just us. You've got kids. I don't want to intrude where I don't belong. They'll get the feeling that you're trying to replace Kathy with me. I don't want that."

I sigh, impatiently. "Liv, they adore you."

"Yeah. But I'm not their mother. And if we take things too fast, they'll think you're trying to replace her." She shakes her head. "It's moving too fast. It's never happened like this before. Normally, I'm lucky if I get past the first date."

I kiss her hair, softly. "Will you stop worrying about it? Please?"

Olivia blinks up at me. "If it keeps going this way, we're gonna screw up. It's not gonna work."

I swear, sometimes, she's as paranoid as Munch. "It's gonna work. Trust me. Liv, we've been denying it for hell knows how long. Things are gonna move fast."

Olivia pushes her hair out of her face. "But I"-

"What?"

She rubs her eyes. "I'm gonna kick myself for saying this, but I don't know how to trust you."

"Trust me?" I raise an eyebrow, confused. "You trust me every single time we go to pick up a guy. You trust me with your life when we go undercover.

She shakes her head. "I know. But that's at work. This is off the job. It's stupid, but I- I've been hurt more times than I can count."

I should have known this was coming. She's been hurt. There's a _long _list of guys that I'd like to have two minutes alone with. She's been walked on and treated like crap so many times that she doesn't want it happening again. She doesn't know how to trust me to _not _hurt her, like every other asshole that's ever been in her life.

"I mean, you get burned, you're not gonna go stick your hand back in a fire, right?" She blinks at me and shrugs. "I know it's pathetic, but I"-

"Hey." I stop her, mid-sentence. "You've been burned. I get that. I'm not gonna hurt you. So this is what you wouldn't tell me?" I look at her. "You coulda told me that."

"Right. You forget we work with a human bat when it comes to gossip? Munch woulda overheard and started asking questions. And the precincts in this city remind me of a girl's bathroom in a high school. Gossip gets around like crazy."

"I wouldn't know."

Olivia shakes her head. "You got three girls. You gotta know how gossip gets around with teenage girls."

"All I know is how impossible it is to get Kathleen off the phone." I shrug.

"That's what I mean." She grins at me. "If I'd asked you that at the squad, Munch would have heard it and it would have gotten around the squad in about five minutes."

I kiss her on the forehead. "Why are you scared about it getting out, Liv?"

She sighs. "I don't know. With you, it won't do anything to your reputation. They'd give you a high five, a slap on the back and buy you a drink. With me, I'm a no-good whore." Her words are bitter. "The double standard that's never gonna disappear."

(A/n: Me yacking again, but this is important. I don't know how much more I'm going to get done on this fic in the future. I'm not stopping, so nobody panic. I'm going to Montreal in the beginning of June, so I'm crazy busy right now. My updates might get a little bit sporadic till I get back. I'll finish it, though, I promise!)


	7. 7

Her words are still echoing in my head. I've never noticed what she called the "double standard" in the Department. I thought it all died, years ago. But, then again, I've never been in her shoes. A woman, in a man's world, looking for acceptance. Fighting to prove herself as an equal.

I know the whole Department is a brotherhood. All of the guys are like brothers. That's why it's so hard to investigate, when you think a cop's committed a crime, because they all protect him. They'll lie for him. Some have even gone as far as to commit perjury on the stand to protect a partner or a friend.

She's right, in a way. If our little secret gets leaked, it won't hurt me. It'll hurt her. The guys are like brothers, but the women are left on the outside. They won't protect her like they would a brother.

She's asleep beside me, the covers wrapped tightly around her body. The first time I watched her sleeping, I wondered what I'd done to hurt her. She sleeps curled up in a ball, her knees tucked up to her stomach, her arms close to her chest. I always get the impression that she's been hurt, when I see her asleep. I just can't shake it.

I know she's carrying a lot of pain around, but like any other human being, when she's sleeping beside me like that, I can't help but get the feeling that it was something I did.

She murmurs, incoherently and tugs the covers off me, shifting herself. I've learned that I fell in love with a blanket hog. I've pointed this out to her and she's retorted that it's not her fault. She's not used to sharing a bed with another person. I gently pull back, so I don't freeze. It won't wake her.

She mumbles something and kicks the covers off. I blink, seeing what she's sleeping in, in the darkness. It's not her usual tank top and sweats that have been around since God-knows-when. It's a dark t-shirt that's huge on her slim body, the bottom hem coming to her knee, with the sleeves falling past her elbow.

I've never seen that before. Maybe she swiped it from an old boyfriend. I don't think she'd go as far as stealing my clothes yet. But I did leave a couple of changes of clothes here, just in case. And she knows where I left them.

I can't help but smile. I don't know what it is with women and stealing clothes from the men in their lives, but they all seem to do it.

I get this feeling, watching her sleep, wearing my shirt. The detective in me wants to pin it down and give it a name so I know what the hell it is. But I don't know what I'm feeling. It's a mix of things, right now.

She looks so peaceful and so calm, when she's asleep. With her eyes closed, she looks years younger. Softer, somehow. Without that hardened look in her eyes, I can imagine what she looked like as a little girl. I've never seen pictures, but I can guess.

I can hazard a guess as to why I've never seen pictures of her as a child. With her mother's drinking problem, there probably aren't that many photos of her, growing up. And her childhood is something she doesn't like to talk about. So if there are any pictures, she doesn't want to look at them.

Somehow, after a while, I do doze off without even noticing it.

When I wake up again, it's early in the morning. The sun's beginning to peek through the thick grey fog, turning the sky pink and orange. The pale light's falling through her window and across the floor, cascading over her sleeping form. Her hair, which she's begun to let grow again, is falling over one pale cheek. She's still asleep.

Her alarm clock blares, startling me and waking her. Olivia groans and slaps the snooze, stretching.

"Morning."

"Mm." She grumbles, rubbing her eyes.

"Hey, Liv, is that my shirt?"

Her cheeks turn a pale pink. "Yeah." She admits, grinning, shyly.

"Why do you want my shirt, hm?"

She shakes her head. "I don't know. I just like to sleep in it."

I smile, kissing her on the forehead. There's something about that that gets to me. Her sleeping in my shirt. It's just cute. She rubs her face and slides out of bed, getting her bathrobe from the back of the door. "You want the shower first? It doesn't matter."

"You go." I wave a hand at her.

I get up, heading for her kitchen. We don't have the time to eat a big, full breakfast on a workday - we make up for it at lunch. I turn her coffee pot on and stick two pieces of bread into the toaster.

The first morning we were together, I expected her to spend hours in the bathroom, getting ready, changing her outfit a half a dozen times, like my daughters. But now I know it doesn't take her long. She showers, grabs whatever's clean and spends about ten minutes on her hair and makeup. It's amazing to me that she just grabs whatever clothes are clean and she still looks great.

She emerges, dressed in one of her tight button-down blouses and a pair of dark pants. I think she wears those blouses purposely to drive me crazy. She brushes her hair back and takes her slice of toast from me, as I head for the shower.

The mirror in the bathroom is still fogged by steam. She has this thing about hot showers. She loves them. I get a clean towel and start the water again, careful to adjust the temperature to something bearable.

I quickly shave and dress, and emerge, to find her waiting for me. It seems like we've settled into a pattern, now, she and I. We know each other so well that this just feels right. She's even admitted that, in between worrying about her career. Our professional and personal lives mixing just feels right.

She tosses me the keys to her car, out of habit. I usually drive. It's just a pattern we've settled into, over the years. "You wanna drive?" I question, holding her keys out to her.

Olivia stares at me, for a second, as if startled to hear me ask. She nods and takes them, heading for the driver's side.

She manages to avoid all the areas where traffic usually backs up, in the mornings. The routes that most people take to work. I think she must have been a cab driver in some past life, because she knows all of the side and cross streets, to keep us out of traffic. We do actually make it to work on time.

"Did you hack a cab or something before you were a cop?" I question, as she slams the door closed.

Olivia grins at me and shakes her head. "Nah. You're forgetting - I grew up in that neighborhood. I know my way around. And when I got my first car, when I didn't want to go home, I'd drive around the neighborhood for a while."

"So I'm gonna let you drive in the mornings, now, huh?" I lean in and kiss her, softly. I have to wait until the end of the day before I can touch her again.

"Yeah. Come on. Maybe Munch _didn't _make the coffee this morning."

"Don't get your hopes up, Liv." I comment, following her inside.

(A/n: I know it's short. It's easier for me to write short chapters, right now. I can't pack to go away, get ready for my prom and write at the same time, so bear with me till school's out, please? I feel like I'm cheating you awesome readers, but I really can't do three things at once.)


	8. 8

(A/n: I really gotta learn to shut up, but there are spoilers from "Intoxicated" in this chapter.)

"Liv?" Elliot glances at me, as we sit in our usual table, at the corner diner where we usually get lunch.

"Yeah?" I look up.

"What would you think about telling the kids?"

"About us?" I rub my forehead. This must be how guys feel, when they're trying to date a single mom. The kids are always getting involved in every aspect of a relationship. It's not that I mind his kids. I just worry about springing this on them too soon.

"Yeah. We can't hide it forever."

I shake my head. "But if we spring it on 'em too soon, they'll think I broke up you and Kathy."

He sighs. "How do you know all this?"

"I dated another divorced dad, with two kids. He brought me home, once, to meet the kids - it didn't go well, let's put it that way."

"Well, it's not like you're a complete stranger to them." Elliot points out, quietly.

"Yeah. I don't know. Maybe we should wait a little longer. Until we figure out what the hell's going on ourselves?"

He looks at me. "You don't know what's going on?"

"Huh?"

"You know what's going on between us. Something we've been waiting to do for years."

"Um-hm." I finish off my plate and look at him. "We still got an hour."

"Hell, we could take the whole day, if we wanted to." He's grinning, broadly.

"_Right_. And piss off Cragen? I thought _you_, of all people, would know by now that that _isn't_a smart thing to do. I don't wanna take an extended lunch break, but I wanna show you something."

"What?"

"You'll see. Gimme the keys."

"You wanna show me Central Park?" Elliot questions, unamused, when we pull up. "Liv, the whole world knows about this place."

"There's something in the park." I slam the driver's side door shut behind me and lock the car, waiting for him.

I lead him through the jogging paths and playgrounds until we come to a quiet spot in the park. There are a couple of benches, shaded by huge, mature trees. There's a fountain somewhere in the background. From here, you can hear the running water.

"It's a nice spot." He observes, waiting for me to get to the point. "Why'd you bring me here."

"C'mere." I lead him over to one of big trees, looking at the trunk. The carving's old, but it's still there. Cut into the tree's thick bark is a rounded heart, with two sets of initials.

"So there were a couple of kids out here carving up a tree. I don't get it."

I give him a smile and point to the initials. "O.B. That's me."

"You?"

"Yeah. Me."

"So who's T.W.?"

"Tommy Wilcox." I shake my head, one palm resting against the solid, old tree.

"Who was he?"

"My boyfriend. I was sixteen. He was twenty-one and in one of my mother's classes. I went to see her one day, after she was done lecturing and I bumped into him. You know the stereotype "tall, dark and handsome?" He fit it, perfectly."

"So you dated an older guy. I thought most girls did that."

I shake my head. "That's not all. He asked me to marry him. I jumped at it. I thought it was my only chance to get away from my mother. He was offering me a way out. She found out, because another professor saw us and told her. I told her we were getting married, she told me to stop seeing him, or she'd have him kicked out of school. I told her I was moving out. She"- I stop and bite my lip.

"Liv." Elliot looks me in the eye.

I run my fingers through my hair. "She was drinking, at the time. She got up, and dropped the bottle. It busted on the floor and made one hell of a mess. She picked up one of the pieces and came at me, screaming that if she couldn't have me, nobody else would."

"Teenage girls fight with their mothers. Believe me, I know."

"She was coming at me, with a piece of glass, El. That's not normal. I kicked her. Hard. She went into the wall, and I did it again. I swear, I felt like I could have killed her, right there. But I ran."

"So that's why you got so involved with Carrie." He shakes his head. "Why you called Bryce. Why you convinced Novak to plead her out."

"Who told you that?" I look at him, questioning.

"Casey did. We had a slam-dunk, then you convince her to plead it out. I wondered."

"When I looked at Carrie, I was looking at myself."

"No. You aren't a murderer."

"But when I looked at her, I was looking at me. We could have been the same girl, El. Twenty years ago, I _i was /i _her. I know what it's like to want to kill your mother, because she just seems to get in the way of everything. And it's not like she cares. All she cares about is where she's gonna get her next drink."

"So you dated an older guy and you and your mother had a fight over it." He shrugs. "You're still not a murderer."

"But I know what it feels like to want to be one." I reply, softly.

He takes my hand in his. "Stop it. Why are you still kicking yourself over that?"

"Because I don't think I did the right thing, convincing her to plead Carrie out. One minute, I think it's the right thing, because she just snapped. She lost it. I can understand how that happened. I've been there. But then, the next minute, I think I just destroyed the whole purpose of the system. She was guilty. I shouldn't have convinced Casey to plead her out just because I pitied her. Justice is supposed to be blind, remember? I'm supposed to be impartial."

"That makes you human. You know what Cragen says. Nothing's black-and-white around here. Half the time, you don't know how you feel. Sometimes, you don't know if you're doing the right thing. And you're not supposed to be impartial. A jury is. A judge is. They don't have to get involved in the cases as much as we do."

I know he's right. My partner might not have much of a formal education, but he's not a stupid man. I hate it when he proves me wrong. It's just the relationship we have. "You're right. C'mon - we gotta get back to work."

He leans in to kiss me on the cheek. "You hate it when I prove you wrong, don't you?"

"Shut up."

"Hey. You don't have to bite." He protests and I laugh, as we walk back to the car.

(A/n: I know this chapter is kind of dull, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head. The whole bar scene in "Intoxicated" kind of annoyed me, because it was Casey Olivia was talking to. I was going to write this as a fic by itself, but I wanted to throw this in as a filler chapter.)


	9. 9

(A/n: I just have one thing to say - this chapter contains a tiny spoiler for the season finale - whatever the ep was called.)

"So how are things going?" Dana shoves her hands into the pockets of her jeans, as we stand in her kitchen. It's a quiet, sunny Saturday afternoon.

It annoys me sometimes, how much I let my job run my life. I grew up with the woman standing across from me. I was in her bridal party, when she got married. I'm her daughter's godmother. But I've only been in her house three times and she's lived here for a year.

"Not bad." I stretch and look around her kitchen. It's painted a shade of yellow that I can't put a name to, but it looks good. The new refrigerator that she and her husband just bought is covered with magnets, the kids' artwork and school work, and a few family photos. There's something about walking into a kitchen of a house where a family lives. It just feels good.

"Did you do what I told you to?" Dana adjusts her ponytail and looks at me. "Well, did you?"

I nod. "And it worked out. It's been a few months now. Most guys don't last past the first date, so this has gotta mean something."

"Good for you. I'd like to see you happy for once, you know?" A scream and a squeal from the living room has her rushing across the kitchen, in what we've jokingly come to call "Mom Mode". "Jason, leave your sister alone. Can you two just stop it? Please?"

With that settled, she comes back into the kitchen to talk to me. "Be glad you don't have kids. Trust me." Dana takes up a knife and begins chopping up vegetables for a salad. "I love 'em both, but the way they fight, now - it's driving me crazy."

"You know I'd give everything up, if I had a chance to be a mother."

"Yeah. I know you would. I don't regret it, scar, scar tissue and everything."

"What?"

"You know Amy was a C-section. I have the scar and the scar tissue. It doesn't matter how much you work out - you're always gonna have that little bulge of scar tissue. They're just telling me that, now, after me spending fourteen years trying to get rid of the damned thing."

Her oldest, my goddaughter, Amy, wanders into the kitchen. "Mom?" She questions, pushing her long hair out of her face.

"Yeah?"

"I think Dad's burning something out there."

"Figures." Dana rolls her eyes. "What did I tell you - never leave a guy alone to cook. Gimme a sec, Liv - I gotta go check on this."

The girl perches on a chair beside me. She has a strong resemblance to her father, with his light brown hair and green eyes, but if you look at the shape of her face, she looks like her mother.

"Hey." I greet. When she was little, she'd sit with me and talk for hours. But now she's tight-lipped and quiet. Typical teenager.

"Hey." She rests one hand on the countertop, revealing thick black nail polish a couple of silver rings and a wristband.

"How's school?"

"You sound like my Dad." Amy replies, rolling her eyes. "But if you want to know, I hate it."

"Why?"

"It's boring."

I shake my head. She's like me, when I was her age. The public school system just didn't challenge me. I got bored, so I started to hate school.

She's a bright kid. Dana's told me that they've talked about putting her in a private school that will give her a challenge, but they can't afford it. They're a pair of civil servants - they couldn't afford the tuition for a good private school in this city.

"Your birthday's coming up, huh?"

She nods. "Um-hm."

"I got you something a little early. I didn't know when I'd get to see you again. It's out in the car. Hang on a sec."

I hand her the small, gift-wrapped bundle, when I come back inside. It's not a typical gift, for a normal teenager, but I think she'll like it. She's a quiet kid, who was grabbing books from the minute she knew how to read. Now, she's dabbling in poetry. I've read a few of her poems and they're actually good.

"_Romeo and Juliet?_" Amy looks at me, green eyes questioning.

"Yeah. I, uh, wasn't sure if you'd like it or not, but it was sitting at home on my bookshelf, collecting dust. I got that copy when I was in college, but when my mom died, I got a bunch of her books. I know it's not cool, but your mom tells me you like romance."

"Yeah. We read part of this in school, but it wasn't the whole thing." She rests the old book on the counter and hugs me. "Thanks."

"So you're not disappointed I didn't get you something, you know, cool? Because I can take you shopping or something."

"No. I don't mind." She grins at me and darts up the stairs, the old book in her hands.

When supper's ready, I step out onto the back deck. It looks out over a green lawn. When you sit back here, you'd never guess you were sitting in New York City. It's peaceful and quiet.

"Hey, you." Dana's husband, Chris, turns from the grill and gives me a pat on the back and a kiss on the cheek. "Didn't you hear me when I said "don't be a stranger?"

"Yeah. I did hear you, but I don't think my boss did." I reply.

"Beer?" He reaches down to a cooler and pulls out a bottle.

"Nah. I'm driving."

"I'll get you a cab - I'll drop the car off at your place, later. I'm going into work tonight, to pull off a sting. We've been setting this up for months. So did you guys get anywhere with that case, about the two Reservists"-

"Hey." Dana cuts in, with a bunch of dishes in her hands. "No shop talk. I know when you get a bunch of you people together, all you know how to do is talk shop, but can you knock it off?"

Chris shakes his head. "Fine. But, seriously, did you get anywhere?"

"Nah. The military doesn't like it when people ask questions. A Grand Jury didn't hold the Army or the company that made the drug responsible."

"It kinda makes you wonder what they have to hide from us." He comments.

"Um-hm." I nod, taking a couple of plates from Dana.

Dana and I are in the kitchen loading the dishwasher, after supper. The kids are somewhere in the house and her husband is in the living room, watching TV. "Did you see Jason, all during supper?" She asks, rinsing off a plate.

"Yeah. Now I see what you mean. I wonder if he's clued in that I'm about two months younger than his mother."

"Nah. You don't age."

"Yeah, I do."

"No, you don't. Hey, Chris!" Dana calls.

"What, babe?" He puts down the remote.

"Doesn't she look like ten years younger than she really is?"

"If you're gonna kill me for answering, then I'm gonna invoke my right to remain silent."

Dana rolls her eyes. "Just answer the damned question and lose the legal crap."

"Yeah. You couldn't guess her age and be right about it." He grins at me.

"You're like my mother. You don't age. Or if you do, you age really well. You don't see it, because you're constantly picking at yourself, but you look good."

I stifle a yawn, as she turns on the dishwasher. "Hey, guys, I'm gonna get a cab and go home. I'm sorry, but I'm wiped." I step out of the kitchen and find my jacket.

"Here." Chris digs out his wallet and pulls out a few bills. "That'll cover the fare and a tip. I'll drop your car off, later on, if you give me the keys."

I reach into my pocket and toss him the keys. "Okay. 'Night."

"Goodnight." Dana walks with me to the door. "You could come around a little more often, you know? If you don't get some time off, I'm gonna have to go in and talk to your boss, because you don't work sane hours."

I shake my head. If she carries through with her threat, I think I might get into some serious crap.


	10. 10, aka epilogue Otherwise known as 'the...

I tuck my hair back behind my ears, unconsciously. Here we are, undercover again. This time, we're trying to bring down a couple who is suspected of kidnapping, drugging and raping children. We set this one up on the Internet, pretending to be a couple who shared their perversions.

It's been six months since we were undercover last. Things have changed a hell of a lot, since then, for both of us. I'm actually happy with him, now. And I don't think he's got any intention of leaving me.

We've also managed to keep it a secret, surprisingly. His kids know, because we didn't really have a choice. We had to tell them. But nobody else knows. I think Cragen's getting a little suspicious, because we actually get along, now, but he hasn't said anything.

I think I've stopped letting the job run my life. I still get two a.m. phone calls and I do work a lot of overtime, but it's not the only thing I think about, anymore. I have other things to think about. There's someone in my life.

There is one thing that's frustrating about this situation, though. I meet a guy that I can see myself with. One that isn't a complete jackass. But I can't marry him. It's typical, for my screwed-up life, but it's still frustrating. I can't marry him, unless one of us quits our jobs. And neither one of us will. I've offered to quit, but he won't let me. Won't let me quit. Something about that should piss me off, but it doesn't.

I pull the tiny mic and earpiece out, to wire up.

"Hang on." Elliot stops me.

"What?" I turn around, looking at him.

He produces the same tiny box, with the rings. "Marry me, Liv?" He's grinning, like an idiot.

I smack him, lightly, shaking my head. "Stop it."

He lets me wire up and slide the rings on my left hand, again. Here we go. Pretending to be what we're not. But this time, I don't think it'll be as awkward. Our act as a couple isn't going to faked, this time.

(A/n: One last thing and then you'll never have to hear from me again. You, the people who actually read this, are awesome! I wish I could thank everybody, but I can't. So thanks to everyone who read and reviewed. You helped me push this past a random, pointless one shot-thing that I wrote just to get the idea out of my system.)


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